20. CHLOE
20
CHLOE
I’ve never been to Callum’s condo.
Callum and Liam share it. We could have walked from the hotel to their building, but with Tucker and the collection of items I haphazardly threw into bags, I’m glad Cal drove us. Didn’t mind the extra miles either.
I wouldn’t have pinned him to drive a mid-level luxury car. Not that I know what I think he would have driven; it’s a reminder that as much as I do know Callum, I don’t know him.
Earlier was a lie. Telling him we aren’t friends. We are—maybe best friends.
I thought about calling him when I got off the phone with my dad. My fingers hovered over his contact information. I called Emerson instead.
Callum puts his car in park. “I’ll be right back.”
I slip out of the car, opening the backseat passenger door to get Tucker. He hops out and tugs on his leash in Cal’s direction.
Cal taps a fob to a small utility closet, opening the door. He returns from the closet with a small cart.
From the trunk, we remove my bags—clothes for work, my skin care routine, and things for Tucker—stacking them on the small cart.
I follow him to the elevator where he fobs again, selecting his floor.
When we reach floor 25, Cal puts his hand over the door, letting Tucker and I exit. I spin around, returning the favor as he pushes the cart out. His hand brushes my lower back as he heads down the hallway. I follow him, again, silently.
Even through my jacket, my skin burns from his touch.
“This is us.” He winks at me. Cal holds the door open for me again.
I drop Tucker’s leash and he bolts inside fearlessly—and before I could wipe his paws.
“Tucker,” I call out to him. “Sorry,” I say to Callum.
“I’m not.”
I tilt my head, watching him. “Are you sure about this? It’s not just me, but Tucker too. I can go somewhere else.”
Callum steps toward me. I step backward, my back hitting the wall across from where he held the door.
It slams shut.
He takes another step toward me. I try to back up more, but the wall now holds me against him. His hands rest next to my head.
“Stop.” Cal is hot, but I’m suddenly cold. Chills prancing across my skin. “I want you here. With. Me. Got that?”
When I don’t respond, at a loss for words for how close he is. How his chest brushes against mine when he breathes. How from this close, I can see his eyes so clearly. The blue beautiful, with bursts of green. How all we would need to do is shift our heads a hair and our lips would brush. How drawn I realize I am to him.
How tethered to him I’m letting myself get. I can’t. I’ll only hurt him.
I should go.
“Henry, answer me.”
I nod. That’s not a no. Why am I nodding? I should be shaking my head.
“I’m a words guy. You need to use them.”
“Got it.”
“Good.” He pushes away. “Follow me.”
I listen blindly .
“This is your place?” I stop in the middle of the kitchen, doing a terrible job at hiding my shock and enthrallment.
The first floor is an open concept. His kitchen flows into a dining area into a living room. When you enter, you walk down a small hallway that opens into a kitchen fit for a Michelin star chef. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. The kitchen island is a deep blue, like his suit from the hotel opening, with a breakfast bar extension. Barstools are tucked away on either side. The cabinets in the rest of the kitchen are a beautiful natural wood. It’s modern with clean lines and minimal, but homey. Light and dark. Warm and cozy. As is the rest of the place.
There is a dining room table that seats eight. The long wood table complimenting the cabinets. Cohesive light fixtures hang above the table and island.
My feet propel me forward into the living room. My hands trails along the couch.
On one side of the living room is floor to ceiling windows. Massive drapes hang from the ceiling pushed to either side, and I can only imagine the light these windows let in during the morning. The sunrises overlooking Lake Michigan I could watch.
A U-shaped white couch, with an area rug that pulls in the blue of the island.
My head swivels, body rotating to take it all in.
“Please tell me you didn’t hire someone to decorate your place and that this is all you and Liam.”
Callum chuckles. “Liam and I didn’t hire someone to decorate the place. This was all us.”
My eyes narrow on him. “Thank you for placating me. This is stunning.”
“You think?”
“I do.”
“It’s different from yours. ”
“Three of my places could fit in here,” I respond bitterly. Of course it’s different from his. I don’t have the salary of a CFO. I barely have a salary that covers my iced latte intravenous therapy.
“That’s not what I meant.” His tone lightens.
“What did you mean?”
He shrugs. “Your place is colorful. Soft, bright, and feminine. This is a bachelor’s pad.”
“It’s better than some of the bachelor pads I’ve been in. There’s usually a resemblance to an insane asylum. Too much white and little to no furniture.”
I do another spin before facing Callum. His head is cocked to the side, brow raised.
“How many bachelor pads have you been in, Dais?”
“Judging?” I mirror his expression. Then I let my mouth rise into a smirk. “Jealous?”
“Nope.”
“ Okay, Pretty Boy . Show me where I’m staying.”
Cal gives me a tour of the rest of the place. Downstairs are two bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, and a half bathroom off the living room. One bedroom belongs to Liam, the other is their shared home office.
Upstairs is his room. And now my room. Across the hall from each other.
“This is me.” He leans against the wall next to his door. “That’ll be your room. Sheets are clean.”
I walk inside, instantly locating the large king-sized bed. I throw myself face first on top of it and groan into the comforter.
The mattress dips.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t know I needed too.”
Maybe it’s the aroma of the comforter, the proximity to Callum, or how once again he’s a safety net and calm, I let my wall down. Give him a few crumbs .
“I like when you ask me questions. It makes me believe you care.”
“I do care.”
Resting my cheek on the bed, I rotate his way.
“What happened to your apartment, Dais?” he asks.
“My shower officially broke. Pipe or something burst. My neighbor's bathroom is in my bathroom. I don’t really understand, but the entire place is flooded. My landlord, after five rounds of phone tag, is going by tonight to assess damage and is going to call me in the morning.”
“I’m sorry that happened.”
“Don’t be. Bad things happen in threes, right? Well this is number two. Just waiting for number three.”
“There won’t be a third, I promise.”
“Don’t make promises. They’re never held.”
“It’s the three of us, forever. I promise,” Aaron said, spooning mac and cheese into Miller and I’s bowls. “MAC forever.”
I roll over before I linger in my memories for too long and sit up.
“I’m going to take a shower.” My stomach growls. “Any chance you’re hungry?”
“Is Thai good with you?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I turn my lips inward. “I’ll be down in a little.”
“Take your time.”
***
There was a towel warmer in the bathroom. A towel warmer.
It took everything in me to not stay bundled in the soft cotton. My stomach growled every time I tightened my towel cocoon.
The smell of the Thai food didn’t help either .
With a salivating groan, I got dressed. Slipping on my ‘MAKE EMO GREAT AGAIN’ oversized shirt and a pair of brief underwear I went downstairs.
The bottom of the stairs gives you a view of the kitchen.
On the second to last stair I spot Cal going through his cabinets. Rotating between one that he must use as a pantry, his computer, and a trash can that is pulled out.
He’s murmuring to himself. “Farro.” A box of grains is in front of his face, puzzled. “Nope.” He tosses it into the trash. Then Cal sighs. “Goodbye honey mustard twisted pretzels. We had a great run.” Kissing the bag, Cal drops it into the trash. “That should be everything.” His shoulders drop.
“What are you doing?” I ask walking to the island.
He’s startles. “Nothing.”
“Looks like you were cleaning out your cabinet.”
He swallows. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“You have Celiac disease.”
“Thank you for telling me something about myself I already know.”
“You can’t have that stuff.”
“Wow, again with the mansplaining.”
“I got rid of anything with gluten in it. I did some research and learned how bad cross contamination can be.”
“That’s usually a big concern for restaurants or bakeries. I can avoid your honey mustard pretzels.”
His face pulls in embarrassment that I heard him. “I didn’t want you to have to avoid anything here. I didn’t want to risk you getting sick at all.”
“How sweet of you, but I’m only going to be here tonight. Maybe tomorrow night.”
“That’s still two days I don’t want to risk.”
My chest tightens. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. ”
Cal walks to the island area where the brown paper bag of our takeout sits. He pulls out the containers and forks. Sliding a rice noodle dish to me.
He walks around the bar, but stops. Blue eyes dance up and down my standing body.
“What are you wearing?”
“My pajamas.” Irises flaring brighter. “Are they a problem?”
“Nope,” he says on an inhale, cheeks red.
Noted.
My insides cackle like a witch, fingers tapping and mind concocting all the ways I can drive him wild. Even if it’s only for two days.